


Empty Nest Verse One-Shots

by coffeegleek



Series: Empty Nest Verse [7]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Politics, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Families of Choice, Found Families, Happy Ending, Homeless Kurt Hummel, Light Angst, Mental Health Issues, Political Allegory, Racism, not your typical hybrid story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-27 20:20:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21124655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeegleek/pseuds/coffeegleek
Summary: One-shots within the Empty Nest verse. Adding more as they come to me.I'm open to prompts. If you want to see something, shout it out and I'll see what I can do with it. :) Best way  to let me know is through my tumblr with the same URL name as I am here.Most of these are pretty tame compared to the rest of the verse. If there are any potential triggers they will be added to the author notes of individual chapters.TW as of Dec 2020 include: mentions of eating disorders, referenced past child abuse, mental health issues, child labor, child incarceration, child death, genocide, and racism.





	1. A Rainy Day

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 takes place within the time frame of Empty Nest before winter comes

\----

Kurt returned to the Hummel’s back yard after helping Mercedes with her garden. When the rain started to pour down, there wasn’t much more he could do without the risk of getting caked in mud and hurting the plants. He found that the meal left out for him had become a soupy mess of...he wasn’t sure what it was to be honest. There were some brownish chunks among cream colored bits. Maybe it had been tuna salad or some kind of meat casserole in its previous, non-aquatic life. 

He really hoped it wasn’t a sandwich. He hated soggy bread, but it wasn’t like he could be picky if didn’t want to starve. He was grateful for the steady meals, shelter, and clothes they’d given him. A bit of rain, okay a lot of rain, in his food just meant he wouldn’t have to worry about finding clean water to drink with it.

He picked up the plastic container and drank the rain that had collected in it. Then firmly reminding himself that the mystery mush to come was certainly better than eating the garage mice, he took the included spoon into his hand and began to eat. With a shudder, he swallowed and scooped more into his mouth as quickly as possible. It was free and well-meant. It was also not better than the mice.

His eyes and ears picked up on the movement of someone walking towards him before his brain registered who it was. Kurt couldn’t help but tense up and drop the container, the soggy remains splattering on the ground and over his shoes and pants.

“Hey, Bud. Sorry that I scared you. I was just coming out to replace your lunch with something else. Sorry for not giving you a container with a lid. Forgot to look at the forecast and didn’t realize it was going to rain this hard.”

“It’s okay. It was fine.”

“Kid, I saw your face trying to eat that. It was clearly wasn’t fine.” With the hand that wasn’t holding the umbrella, Burt held out the Rubbermaid container and when the kid wouldn’t take it from him directly, he placed it as gently as he could on top of the storage bench. “I heated up some soup beans and put a nice large slice of cornbread in there for you too. It should tide you over until dinner time, which is going to be more of the same, to be honest. I know I’m not much of a cook, but at least it’s edible. Carole’s working a double shift and it’s not fair for her to do everything and…” Burt knew he was rambling and the kid was still tense and getting wetter by the second. He probably just wanted to get into his shelter or the garage and be left alone, but was too afraid to say anything. “I’ll just leave you to it then. You know the drill by now. If you need anything, just leave a note or knock on the back door.”

“Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“You matter, Kiddo. Of course I did.”

Kurt picked up the container of food and did his best to smile gratefully at Burt. Then he made a move towards his shelter to let the man know he’d be okay. When Burt walked away and reentered the house, he let out a long sigh. It was a good thing that he always set aside a part of his breakfast for later and still had one of the protein bars the Hummels had given him last week. He couldn’t eat soup beans and cornbread no matter how hungry he got. Not after all the years of being forced to eat them at the Reformatory. Even the smell made him gag. 

Knowing he could dry off better at Blaine’s than in his shelter, he retrieved his battered knapsack from the garage and put the hot meal in it. Blaine didn’t have the problem with soup beans that he did, and he was still having trouble finding enough to eat as it was. With a glance to the back porch windows to make sure he wasn’t being watched, Kurt pulled the straps of the bag over his shoulders and set out for the abandoned K-Mart.


	2. Boredom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt is bored. Takes place in mid-January after Kurt moves in with the Hummels

\----

Kurt was bored. Honestly and truly bored. Being homeless was boring on its own at times, but now he had a place to stay and less to do. Less basic needs to scavenge, steal, and fight for; less to worry about. He had thought it would be nice, getting to live on the Hummels’ back porch. The room they insisted was his own, setting up a bed and plastic totes for him to put his things in. The rest of the house they insisted was his to use too and “make himself at home” in. 

Blaine was off doing a job for April. Mercedes didn’t need his help either. And the bigoted, xenophobic, homophobic librarian’s bumper stickers of hate-covered car was in the parking lot at the library so going there was out too. 

He’d already had a shower, had washed his clothing and bedding, eaten part of the breakfast and lunch that had been set aside for him, cleaned what little needed to be in the kitchen, found two secret stashes of chocolate snack cakes and cookies that Burt and Carole were clearly hiding from the other given their locations, tidied up the living room, vacuumed the carpets, and mopped the kitchen and bathroom floors. There wasn’t any snow for him to shovel or ice to salt down in the driveway or garbage and recycling to take out. Not that the Hummels had asked or expected him to do such. He just thought it was the right thing to do to repay them for the room, food, toiletries, and hot water. Plus, he was bored. So very, very bored.

He had tried watching TV, but there weren’t any reality shows on, _Law & Order_ had started to give him a panic attack so that couldn’t be watched, the news was just as depressing and anger inducing as it always was, and he wasn’t in the mood for cheesy Christmas movies in the middle of January. None of the magazines were holding his interest - Burt’s or Carole’s. Carole had shown him how to set the TV to make the DVD player work, but it was complicated and he didn't want to screw up their TV completely, so that was out too.

Kurt couldn’t figure out where they kept their books. Maybe most of what they had owned, they’d tossed out already during their summer dejunking. He wished he hadn’t left most of his own books and magazines at Blaine’s place even if they were safer from the elements than the storage bench had been. Now that he had an indoor place to live, he’d have to move them. Or at least a few. He wasn’t comfortable enough here yet to expect to stay forever. Life wasn’t like that. He liked the Hummels, but no one was that generous. And he only trusted them to a point. 

As it was only his second week of living with them inside, he hadn’t been given the password to their computer. Honestly, it didn’t surprise him. He wouldn’t have either. Learning to trust went both ways. 

Kurt thought about searching the house again for things that would make him not trust them, but he’d already done it multiple times. Plus, he’d overheard them whispering once that they knew he had done it, understanding why, though thankful he hadn’t stolen anything. Unlike the adults he’d spent the majority of his life around and seen on TV, Burt and Carole were exactly as he’d known them to be for months - older, happily married, who loved the state’s sports teams, Burt was a mechanic and owned his own tire and lube shop, Carole was a nurse at the hospital, and they had a son away at college who had left behind his stash of girly magazines in the back of his closet in a disgusting smelling gym bag. Magazines he had absolutely no desire to flip through. 

The clock on the wall ticked on. Burt wouldn’t be home for another four hours and Carole would be working until even later at the hospital. 

And so he remained bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored.


	3. Bread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt makes bread. Takes place over a year after Kurt moves in with Hummels and he’s thoroughly established as their adopted son. TW: mentions of Kurt’s eating disorder

\----

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hi, Kiddo. Watcha makin’?”

“Bread. I found one of your Elizabeth’s old cookbooks and thought I’d give it a try. There were detailed instructions and pictures, and it didn’t look that hard.” Kurt held up his hands. “I’m wearing gloves, so you don’t have to worry about fur getting in it.”

“Kurt, if I had a problem with it, it would make me xenophobic and racist.” Burt took off his off his cap and ran a hand over his bald head. “If I hadn’t lost most of my hair after turning thirty, I’d be the one sayin’ what you said to me, don’t you think?”

“No one likes hair in their food, Dad. Not even hybrids. Plus, Mom thinks I’m shedding more because of the malnutrition. Sorry.” Kurt couldn’t help but be embarrassed at that. He knew it was true. Glee club at the homeschool co-op was stressful at times. Sometimes the anti-anxiety medication and continued weekly appointments with Miss Pillsbury weren’t enough. So he fell back on a coping mechanism he knew worked, even though it came with its own consequences.

Burt knew better than to remind Kurt to take his vitamins and eat more as that would only make things worse. His kid was trying and that’s what mattered. “Kurt, you’re doing your best. And look at you, making bread. That lump is bread, right?”

Laughing, Kurt answered his dad. “It’s dough right now, but it will be bread. Millie said she had a bunch of grains that the customers weren’t buying fast enough and they were going to expire soon. So she let me buy them at cost. I had the money.”

“Don’t you worry about the money, Kiddo.”

“There’s unbleached white flour, whole wheat flour, buckwheat groats. I’m not sure what those are, but they looked healthy. Um...wheat germ, oat flour. You know, so we don’t have to eat oatmeal but can tell our doctors that we did.” Kurt liked that his dad laughed at that and shared his loathing of the stuff. And some local honey that Rory’s foster family brought to the co-op.” He smirked at the confused look on his parent’s face. “You don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“Not really, but I trust you.” It finally dawned on Burt that something, or rather someone, was missing. “Where’s Blaine?”

“Hiding on the back porch with a go bag packed. He’s scared after the last time I cooked and mad that I didn’t wait until you or mom came home to supervise.”

“I warned you about trying flambe’, Bud.”

“I was just trying to make you and mom bananas foster for your wedding anniversary. I didn’t know the flames would reach that high. At least I put the fire out quickly and only burned an oven mit.”

Burt put a gentle hand on his son’s shoulder. “No real harm done then. How long till the bread is ready?”

“A couple of hours. It still has to rise a few times.”

“And Blaine plans on staying out on the porch the whole time?”

“That’s what he said.”

“Want me to go talk to him?”

“You wouldn’t mind? I tried to, but…”

“It’s okay, Bud. I’ll bribe him with your mom’s cookies.”

“He already ate those.”

“Then I’ll bribe him with mine unless you ate them.”

“No. They were gross.”

“And that’s why I get them.” 

Kurt laughed with his dad. He loved having one. He loved having Burt as his dad. And he figured it was okay to say so. “Love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, Son.” Burt hugged his kid. He loved Finn and Blaine, but Kurt, Kurt was his favorite. He dug in the cabinet for the package of cookies he’d stashed away and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. With a last smile at his kid, he headed to the back porch.


	4. A Great Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place within the fic Leaving the Nest. It’s raining today and I challenged myself to write something happy. Enjoy some happy Kurt and Burt feels.

—

Kurt stared out one of the windows set within the garage doors of Hummel Tires & Lube. It was raining hard, large puddles mixing with oil and other fluids forming rainbow swirls in the more sheltered areas. The rest of the paved lot and awaiting pickup trucks, SUVs, and cars were being pelted by the downpour. There was a chill in the air, but inside the garage he was warm, dry, and happy. 

He heard his dad come up behind him, hesitating before putting a hand on his shoulder, to this day cautious about touching him without warning and permission. Kurt was getting better at controlling his instincts, about not flinching, and was glad he didn't this time. Burt was his official dad now and he his son. Had been for years according to the forged documents. Reality was a bit shorter than that. The time disparity didn’t change the familiar feelings. The unbreakable knowledge that he was safe and loved in a way he hadn’t been since he was five years old. There was Blaine of course, but that was a different kind of love.

“How you doin’, Kiddo?”

“I’m good, Dad. Really good. It’s a good day.”

“I’m real glad to hear that. I can make it better.”

Kurt could help but turn around, not wanting to break the welcomed touch, but his curiosity was piqued. “How?”

"One of Shelby Corcoran’s musical theatre kids messed up her sedan while trying to prove he could change a tire. Tore up the upholstery in the trunk and scratched it a bit while pulling out the spare. She offered a pretty nice bonus if we could have it fixed and ready for her by the end of closing.”

“Those are easy repairs.”

“She don’t know that.”

Kurt laughed along with his dad. He loved his dad’s laugh, the deep, wry chuckle. Even when it was directed at himself or Blaine, there was never an ounce of ill will behind it.

“Lead the way!”

“Finish your break first. There’s a fresh pot of coffee and Shoshandra brought in a box of donuts. Plenty of your favorites left.”

Kurt’s ears perked up, shifting his knit cap in the process. “Why didn’t you lead with that?” 

His dad laughed again and then pulled out his wallet to check the contents inside.

“How about I pick us up some Long John Silvers for lunch? Give you some protein to go with all that sugar and caffeine?”

Kurt bounced on his toes, a squeal of delight escaping his beaming smile. “You’re the best dad ever!”

“Pretty easy when you’ve got a great kid. Go, get your sugar buzz on while I prep Mz. Corcoran’s car.”

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, Son.”


	5. Night Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Burt pov one-shot that takes place after he discovers the pair of cargo pants in his garage but before he and Carole start leaving food for Kurt on a routine basis - early chapter 1 of Burt’s Nest. No warnings apply. Inspired by RL events.

—

Burt rubbed his hand over his face and sighed. He wanted to call out to the kid who had dropped the empty soup can he was holding and then run full tilt down the driveway, turning right towards the end of the street. He had wanted to tell the kid that he didn’t mind his recycling and garbage picked through, nor the garage used as a place to sleep or dry clothes. Hell, if the kid ever stopped longer than a second he could ask what kind of help he needed because he clearly needed some. Not that he’d ever gotten a good look at the boy, but he couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen. A hoodie couldn’t hide his tail either and given the news and rumors these days, calling the cops or child protective services was out of the question. 

Burt knew he had to do something though. The kid kept coming back, so clearly he felt at least a little safe here. If Carole was still awake after the emergency tow he had to take care of, he’d talk it over with her. Maybe he’d pick up some snack cakes for the kid on his way home and leave them by the bins or garage. 

For now, he had to deal with a stranded mom trying to get home to her kids after working the night shift at Walmart. Not a single co-worker or manager had been willing to give her a jumpstart or ride. Hybrids got the raw end of the deal far too often by racist bastards, and honestly, he was glad he wasn't one of them. A free jump and he wouldn't charge her for the tow or battery if it needed replacing. Maybe it was out of guilt for scaring the kid tonight, or maybe he was just trying to do what was right.

Grateful that he'd brought his tow truck home tonight instead of leaving it at the garage as per usual, he turned onto 2nd Street and stopped at the red light. Up ahead, he saw the kid duck under the rusted truck abandoned in an overgrown lot. No amount of pride and helping the mom tonight would make up for scaring the kid. He hoped he hadn't scared him off for good before he and Carole had that talk.


	6. Responsibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Carole pov one-shot that explores her past career dreams and hopes, the choices she was forced to make, and why she’s a nurse (in fandom at least). Though it takes place around the time of Burt's Nest chapter 1, and early on in Empty Nest-Revised, and ties into a future one-shot called Strawberries, it can stand alone on its own as a non-verse ficlet. I didn’t research life as a Marine spouse nor U.S. military bases and accept all discrepancies. This is an AU though, so blame it on that if you will.

—

Carole groaned at the time on her phone. It was later than she’d thought and the guilt about falling back asleep repeatedly after she'd initially woken up was settling like a weight. With another soft groan as she stretched and forced herself out of bed, refusing to accept that she was old enough to have a body that groaned and hurt from the simple acts. 

Burt was dead to the world, barely grunting at the movements she made. The late night emergency tow must have lasted longer than he’d expected. Even though he had plenty of other mechanics who could handle them, he always insisted on taking as many as he could. She tucked the blankets around her husband with a fond smile and let him sleep. There was no reason for them both to be up this early. 

Not that 10 a.m. was early. It was late; far too late actually. She had responsibilities to the people who depended upon her. Being an empty nester didn’t change that even before she and Burt had agreed to start helping out the homeless teenager who had begun to hang around their back yard more often than not. One day the kid might trust them enough to let them know his name, but for now they called him Buddy. The nickname had been Burt's idea, and while not great, was better than nothing. Buddy needed breakfast and as it was later than she usually brought it out, he more than likely had left by now. 

Where he went she didn’t know. As a teenager, she had hung out at the mall with her friends. There was a cute guy who worked at the arcade and she had quickly become a master at Pac Man and Quix. Did arcades even exist anymore? God, maybe she really was that old. 

With a wistful sigh for the girl she had been back then, Carole put coffee on to brew and searched the fridge for portable foods she could give the new boy in her very adult life. There wasn’t really time to scramble some eggs or make pancakes. There was however a bag of pepperoni rolls and a pint of locally grown strawberries. They were supposed to have been for her and Burt’s lunch today, but they could always pick more up at the store. The kid couldn’t.

Was it wrong to wish for a moment that she didn’t have to? To wish that she could have slept in, had a leisurely cup of coffee and strawberry shortcake for breakfast at the kitchen table, scroll through her 80’s aesthetic tumblr and read some Captain Janeway and Tom Paris fanfiction? Burt didn’t know about that particular interest and didn’t need to. A little bit of mystery kept a marriage fresh, in her opinion.

Carole looked at the time again. Damn it, she was really late now. Stuffing the food and a bottle of water into a plastic grocery bag, she tugged on her shoes and headed out the back door. The kid wasn’t around, so she left his breakfast on the patio table. All she could do was hope he’d come back later to get it and not feel they’d forgotten about him.

Back inside she finally made herself a cup of coffee and bowl of Lucky Charms. Screw Raisin Bran. If she couldn’t have strawberry shortcake, she could feed her sweet tooth with purple stars and green clovers. When Finn was home, she was lucky to get any. But that was the sacrifice of being a parent. Of being an adult. Too many responsibilities. Too many times deferring to others’ needs. 

Too many dreams dashed to be honest. Carole loved being a mother even if it was hard. She didn’t mind being a wife twice over. Burt and Christopher were both good men. Far better than the cheating jackass Darren and the other “I’m not really ready for kids” jerks she’d stupidly dated. She was young and in love almost instantly when she’d met Christopher. He was handsome and kind and devoted to serving his country. Being the wife of a Marine meant responsibilities and her own youthful dreams set aside. She’d never be an actress who starred in local commercials while waiting for her big break. Never a professional concert flautist, though that was more so because she wasn’t really that good at playing the flute despite being in her junior high and high school’s concert bands. Her mom had been a teacher and though she’d toyed with the idea, it wasn’t for her. And as much as she’d fantasized about it while staring at the posters that lined her teenage bedroom walls, she knew she would never actually marry the lead singer of A-ha, jet around the world, and have his very Norwegian babies.

When she was nineteen, she had enjoyed her time working as a clerk in the local, temporary Census office and considered going into similar work once the job was over. She’d even taken a couple of tests for government positions. While she was waiting for the results, Christopher had been deployed to a base in another state and they’d had to move to New Jersey of all places. She couldn’t understand why anyone would want to live in New Jersey. It was hard to find civilian work near the base and God knew they needed the money. Even without kids it was too expensive to live there on Christopher’s salary alone. 

A friend she’d made, another Marine wife, was a nurse. It wasn’t a profession she’d ever considered, but logistically it made sense. The pay was good and there was always a demand for nurses no matter the town or city. In two years she could get her associates degree, get a job, and work towards her bachelors. That her education would be partially paid for by the government helped seal the deal in her mind. It made sense. While it wasn’t a dream job and learning medical jargon and procedures was even harder than she’d expected, she stuck it out. It was the responsible thing to do. 

Life crashed around her when Christopher died. She was no longer a Marine wife living in military housing with a newly painted nursery. She was a widow and single mother who had to hide her grief and be strong for her infant son. Necessity demanded her to find a new place to live, a new job, a new way of living without her beloved husband. There was a bit of safety and possibility in the knowledge that she still had family back in Elida, Ohio where she’d grown up. Her one surviving grandfather and great aunt in Delphos however were out of the question given that they were both in a nursing home. Her Uncle Bill had sold off her grandparents’ farm in Cairo so the wistful hope of Finn getting to run free in the fields, learn how to milk goats and feed chickens like she had as a kid on summer vacations got dashed quickly. She was pissed at her uncle, but times were hard for farmers and the deal he’d gotten on the property had been too good to pass up.

In the end, she found a one bedroom apartment in the not-quite seedy part of Lima and a job at Lima General Hospital. It barely paid enough to keep the lights on and water running, but the other nurses and orderlies had set up a system where they watched each others kids so that no one had to worry about childcare or leaving their kids home alone during their ever-changing work shifts. By the time Finn was eight, they had moved into a house. It was barely bigger than the apartment, but it had a yard and sometimes they splurged on Emerald Dreams to make the grass look like a picture in a magazine. The owner, Darren, had been good for both her and her son. They had laughed and sung together until the bastard ran off with his bleach blonde-haired, fake-boobed slut.

Carole heard shuffling upstairs. Her second husband, the kind of man she never dared to dream she’d find again, was awake. Pushing back the memories of her past and focusing on the responsibilities of now, she went to refill her empty coffee cup and pulled the grocery list off the fridge. If she hurried, she could make the trip to Meijers and be back in time to put the groceries away before she had to leave for her shift at the hospital. Burt would have to cook lunch and dinner, something neither of them wanted, but at least he cleaned up after himself and had painted over the soot on the ceiling after setting the box of Rice-A-Roni on fire. 

She read over the grocery list, added a few new things and doubled the quantities of others. Buddy wasn’t Finn, but he was a teenager and homeless at that. The poor kid’s clothes practically hung off of him and Burt had seen him catching mice. It wasn’t right. Neither was her being late with his breakfast and causing him to miss a meal. 

Her whole life was an unexpected timeline of giving up her childhood career dreams to become a nurse and having a husband, only to far too soon become a widow and single mother with a penchant for dating losers. Then it was back to being a wife again. Now she was an empty nester with a kid in college and had taken on a second kid she knew next to nothing about. Carole couldn’t honestly say she hated her responsibilities and life. She just wished that some days it was all a little easier. That she could have kept a few of those wistful dreams of her youth.

Her smile wasn’t forced when she tilted her head up to accept her spouse's morning kiss and hug. No, she didn’t hate her life at all. It was simply different than she had imagined it would be and she was perfectly okay with that.


	7. Strawberries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first part takes place in October, the year Burt discovers that it’s been a homeless teenager living under his porch, not a stray cat, and encourages the kid to stick around. The second part takes place mid-January after Kurt moves in with Hummels. The idea has been kicking around in my head ever since we started getting our first ever farm share (CSA) this year. I know that strawberries wouldn’t be in season in October in Ohio so I’m going with the explanation that the farm set up some greenhouses to try and expand their fall offerings. You don’t have to have read “A Nest of Scars” to understand read this fic, but if you’d like more of Kurt’s life that’s discussed here, that’s where it would be. TW: references to child abuse, child labor, child incarceration, and mental heath issues. To counter some of that are Burt and Carole parenting feels.

—

Kurt stared intently at the pint of strawberries Carole had left out for him on the patio table; a package of pepperoni rolls was still nestled in the plastic grocery bag the fruit had been placed in. Anxiety continued to well up inside of him and he felt stupid. They were just strawberries. The woman had given some to him before, but always in a reusable plastic container, the fruit of unknown and unnamed origins. But these were sitting in a green paper berry box, the name and logo of the farm printed in stark black ink on the side. 

He knew that farm; had known its fields since he was six years old. Scared, abused by guards in ways that gave him nightmares. The strawberries he was forced to pick were one of the many crops the farmer and others like him grew. The farms and farmers had names. This bastard was a human named Menkins while he himself was only known and called by his inmate number and the slurs thrown at him. Furs weren’t allowed to eat the strawberries, only pick them. The guards made sure of that. 

Inmate One Four Three Eight Zero Five. No. Kurt. He was only Kurt now and had been for a year. He was also hungry and even with the generosity of the couple who let him sleep in their backyard and under the front porch, the food they left wasn’t enough some days. The strawberries were there, clean and ripe and freely given. No guards. No one who would beat him and check his mouth and other places to make sure he hadn’t stolen any. But still he stared and left them untouched. He didn’t know how there could be strawberries in the middle of fall. Maybe the farmer had added a couple of greenhouses to expand his seasonal offerings. Maybe it was global warming seeing as how it was unusually warm for October. Octobers were for picking apples, broccoli, and pumpkins. Not that he could eat broccoli without getting sick. Not that he still did out of desperation.

Loud yelling from the obnoxious kids across the street startled him out of his anxiety-ridden and spiraling state. It was now later than he’d planned on being here and his hunger was even greater than before. He shook his head to clear it, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. The psychology book he’d read at the library said that it was good to try and overcome your fears and move on from your past. Even if that past wasn’t all that long ago. Even if the step you needed to take would be considered insignificant in another person’s eyes, if it was a step for you, it had value. 

He could do this. More slow breaths, more memories forced back. Kurt stretched out his hand and reached for the ripe red strawberry laying at the top of the pile. He was shaking as his fingers closed around it and brought it to his mouth. More slow breaths, counted this time to make his jaw relax from its clamped shut state. His eyes darted around for signs of danger and his shoulders hunched up as his head ducked down on instinct. Still shaking, he put the berry in his mouth and swallowed quickly, barely tasting it before the evidence of what he’d done was gone. No blows came. No harsh words. No demands to open his mouth, pull down his jumpsuit, and bend over so evil hands could search him for stolen food.

Kurt. He was Kurt and he was here alone in this yard of semi-safety belonging to a middle-aged couple who had only treated him kindly. This wasn’t a farmer’s field with dozens of other shackled and terrified little kids and ever-watchful guards. He couldn’t help that his hands continued to shake despite the determination that was pushing back the fear. In one swift motion the pint of strawberries was clutched to his chest. Another look around to make certain there was no one around and another breath. A large strawberry called to him and he savored it as much as his nerves would allow. It was sweet and juicy and perfect. The rest were gone in a matter of minutes. 

Kurt fought to keep the berries down, using his nerves to tear the paper container into tiny bits and hide the evidence among the newspapers in the recycling bin. Unfortunately, the strawberries followed, and try as he might, the evidence couldn’t be erased as easily. 

Dejected, he stuffed the bag of pepperoni rolls into his battered knapsack and headed to Old Lady Mercedes’s house. Her leaves needed raking and he’d made a promise to go over. Tomorrow he’d go to the library and find a better book.

—

Kurt stared intently at the all-too familiar logo printed on the now-empty bag. Carole had pulled it out of the freezer and placed the frozen strawberries it contained into a bowl to thaw on the kitchen table. He could feel the anxiety welling up inside of him and fought hard to control it using a counting technique he’d read in a pamphlet written by someone named “Miss P” that he’d found laying on a shelf in the library’s psychology section. It was working better than the book from a few months ago. “Carole, can I have a strawberry?”

“Are you sure? I thought you were allergic given what happened last time.”

Kurt winced at the statement. “You noticed that? I thought I’d hidden it.”

“The smell gave it away.” Carole smiled through her brief retort, hoping Kurt wouldn’t think she was mad. The anxiety on his face was plain as day, but it was focused more on the strawberries than herself. “If you’re hungry, there’s plenty of other food you’re more than welcome to, Sweetie.”

“I’m not allergic. It’s just that...I know this farm.” 

“Was there a recall? Is the farmer using pesticides we should be worried about? I know they’re out of season, but these were in the freezer section and I’ve been trying to buy more local produce. Protect the environment. Support the local farms. Support the community. That sort of thing.”

The questions were too fast and too many. He wasn’t sure how to answer them without giving too much away. “I don’t know about the pesticides. That’s good I guess about buying local. It’s just…”

“Everything okay in here? Did I hear right in that there’s something wrong with the strawberries? Want me to take them back to the store? I’m sure I’ve got the receipt somewhere.”

Kurt looked at the people who had taken him in. Burt and Carole weren’t mad, just confused. The confrontation and newness of his living arrangements on top of being afraid of a bowl of strawberries and what they represented was too much though. He could work on overcoming that particular past trauma another day. Or never. Never would be okay with him right now. They were just stupid strawberries, even if his brain buzzed with the knowledge that they weren’t a just an anything. “It’s fine. I’ll just have an apple.” Kurt pulled one out of the crisper in the refrigerator and put it in his pocket, no longer as hungry as he had been a few minutes before. 

Burt took off his Hummel Tires & Lube cap and rubbed at his head before putting it back on. His wife was as clueless as he was, but the kid was scared, plain as day. He knew that much. “Bud, you’re safe here. You know that, right? If anything’s bothering you, speak up. Maybe we can help. Maybe we can’t. There’s no harm in asking and no one is going to judge you for it.”

“I just wanted a strawberry, but it’s fine. I’m fine now.” Kurt backed a little further away from the table and fridge, trying to edge closer to the door that led to his back porch bedroom.

“Seems like it’s not ‘just’ any of those things, Kiddo.”

Damn, Burt was good at reading him. Too good some days. Kurt took a deep breath and counted to ten. Then ten again as he stared at the red and white plastic bag with its black ink logo and “Menkins Fresh & Wholesome” in green block script. Wrinkled or not, he knew that farm’s tractor and evil smiling cow by sight, though it had always been on the produce containers he packed and the signs on the road the prison bus would drive past to get there. He knew the farmer and what atrocities he was capable of too. 

He knew...he knew he wanted to run and hide in his room. A room in a house, not a prison. The home of the people who had welcomed him in and were waiting patiently for an answer. He wanted to ask if they would tell, but he already knew the answer to that. If Burt and Carole had wanted to turn him in or tell some child services agency, they would have already done so and he would already be back in a green and orange jumpsuit instead of brand new clothes that had been washed that morning.

Kurt let out another long breath and tried not to stutter what he was willing to share. “Picking strawberries for the Menkins’s farms was one of the first work details I had at the Reformatory. The guards would pat us down and check our mouths and...um, ears...to make sure we didn’t steal any. We’d get hit if we did. They accused me of it all the time, but I never ate one. Never. Not until you gave me some.” Kurt refused to say where else he was searched and the other abuses he’d endured at the hands of the guards. The anguished look on Burt’s face said he’d figured it out anyway. He counted some more and tightened his hand around the apple in his pocket, trying to channel his stress elsewhere.

“Kurt, how old were you?”

Kurt looked at Burt in shock, not expecting the question and surprising himself by blurting out the answer so freely. “Six. Six until I aged out of that cellblock at nine, but sometimes I’d pick the strawberry fields at older ages. The little kids are better at the delicate work. Smaller fingers I guess. The older groups usually got assigned different crops.”

“You said one of your work details. What else did they have you do?”

Kurt didn’t bother trying to hide his sigh. Of course Burt had picked up on that. He shifted his focus from the man onto his wife’s embroidered and rhinestone covered denim jacket. “I like your jacket.”

“Thank you, Kurt. It’s one of my favorites. I always say denim never went out of style. There’s this booth at the flea market and for such cheap prices, the workmanship is amazing. Always something new in the most interesting designs.” Carole stopped talking as the reason for Kurt’s compliment on her attire and proud smile dawned on her. “Honey, did you make this?”

“I made ones just like it.” He moved around the table to get closer to the garment and reached out to touch it. “Can I?” At the woman’s nod of consent, he gently searched the rhinestones at the hem, the grin on his face grew when he found what he was looking for. “Can you see the tiny ‘K’ and ‘E’ where the rhinestone is sewn on? I called it my sneaky work. I couldn’t always get away with it, but I tried to as often as I could. I wanted someone to…” 

“Wanted someone to what, Bud?”

Kurt swallowed the lump in his throat. “I wanted someone to know that I was there.” It was all he could get out without his voice breaking and giving even more away.

Carole wiped at the tears that had formed in her eyes. She wanted to take the boy and hug him. The kid wasn’t there yet, so all she could do was apologize and try to comfort him with her words. “I am very sorry, Kurt. I didn’t know and I won’t wear the jacket or any of the other clothes I bought at that booth. I promise.”

“But you said you love it.”

“Not if it hurts you. I’ll donate it to a charity or something.”

Kurt couldn’t help but soften at that comment. His sewing work details hadn’t been without their traumas either, but he’d taken pride in some of his work. Talking about it was easier than facing the damned strawberries. “No, wear it. It looks good on you, and I’m glad it makes you smile.”

“If you’re sure?”

“Not everyone can pull off denim.”

Burt looked fondly at the woman he was lucky to have agreed to put up with him. “That’s what I’m always telling her. It was one of the first things I noticed about Carole.” 

“You said it was my smile.”

“It was, but it wasn’t the only thing.” Burt winked and loved that he could still make his wife blush. As much as he wanted to lighten the mood further, he knew he had a responsibility to this kid and others like him first. “Anything else we should stop buying? I make sure the coveralls I buy for the garage are American made, but now I’m seeing that’s not good enough. Were you forced to make those too? Is that why you won’t wear them at the shop? I’m not complaining, Kurt. I just don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

Again, Kurt was shocked by the question and kindness. It wasn’t quite as comfortable to answer as the truth about the jacket had been, but he had to put the man’s consciousness at ease. “No, the men’s prison makes those. They make the Reformatory’s uniforms too. Easier for the adults I guess. We did the work that required more dexterity - embroidery, hand stitching, piece work.” Kurt saw that Burt was still staring at him, waiting for the full answer. “I don’t like wearing the coveralls because they remind me of the ones we had to wear. They were green and orange, not blue, and...”

Burt stopped the boy there. The kid was counting under his breath again and his hand was damn near shaking out of the pocket he’d shoved it into. The apple would be nothing but pulp soon if he didn’t calm down. “It’s okay, Kurt. I understand. You go ahead and keep wearing what you feel comfortable in. I’ll look for a new supplier tonight.”

Burt was human. He didn’t really understand what life was like at the Reformatory nor for hybrids in general, nor how fruitless his search for inexpensive, cruelty-free uniforms would be. But the man was trying and Kurt didn’t feel like explaining further. He didn’t feel like being around the evil strawberries anymore either, yet the need to not be a burden or take the Hummels’ generosity for granted was greater. “Do you need help making dinner, Carole?”

“No, Sweetie. It’s nothing fancy and won’t take long.”

“Can I go to my room and read then? I found a new book behind the...at the...I found a book.” Kurt hated how badly he had changed the subject and tried to avoid saying exactly where he went. They already worried that he still spent some nights with Blaine at the abandoned K-Mart. He didn’t need them worrying more or telling him he couldn’t keep scrounging other long-dead strip malls and the dumpsters behind the Goodwill and his other haunts. Trusting that Burt and Carole would let this be his home forever was too much to hope for. Besides, the places he visited had some interesting finds from time to time and despite the Hummels extending some of their generosity to Blaine, his boyfriend was still homeless. 

After the woman’s, “Oh, Honey, of course you can,” and the man’s, “We’ll call you in when dinner’s ready, Kiddo,” Kurt closed the door that separated the kitchen from the back porch. He could hear Burt and Carole whispering about how he hadn’t so much as looked at the strawberries again. A fact he was well aware of and had hoped they hadn’t noticed. 

He was thinking about them again now though and replaying all that he’d let slip during the conversation and all that Burt and Carole had surmised on their own. All this oversharing was too much and too soon. He knew better than to say anything and knew better than to try and eat that bastard farmer’s strawberries again. Screw that farm and the Reformatory and those damn strawberries and the nightmare memories they brought up. He tried counting again and gave up. Screw stupid self help pamphlets and books too. He could try again another day. Or never. Right now, he was pretty much fine with never for all of it.


	8. Covid Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This oneshot is between Kurt and Carole and takes place during Leaving the Nest. You don’t have to have read it nor chapter 6 of A Nest of Scars to understand this fic, but if you’d like more of Kurt’s life that’s discussed here, that’s where it would be. Thanks to notenoughtogiveread for help with the medical stuff that I in turn tweaked to accommodate the fact that in this verse there are two fully sentient races on Earth that evolved at the same time. Lastly, this one-shot took a turn I never originally intended in regards to the pandemic, but for 3 a.m. writing, I’m not complaining. Covid-19 in our world is not the same as covid-12 in this verse, except for the fear of it and unwarranted xenophobic attitudes. 
> 
> TW: References to child abuse, child labor, child incarceration, child death, genocide, racism, and mental and physical heath issues. It has a good ending though; I promise.

—

Kurt smoothed down the sleeves of his shirt and tucked the ends of his gloves over them. In the bedroom mirror he made certain that his newly made mask fully covered his mouth, nose, and cheeks and that the ties that held it in place were taught. With a small wave to an equally attired Blaine he left their room, shut the door behind him, and made his way downstairs. 

He found his Carole Mom in the living room looking exhausted, the tell-tale marks of wearing a too-tight N95 mask all day at work clear on her human skin. The news program she was watching confirmed exactly what he wanted to talk to her about. When she noticed him watching, she turned off the TV. 

Kurt knew the look on her face and what would come next, so he held her off as gently as he could. He was nothing if not prepared for this very thing. “Before you say, ‘Oh, Honey,’ and try to deny anything and tell me that I’ll always be your son and how Blaine is like your son and safe here too, I need to ask you something and I need you to be honest with your answers.”

“Can I sigh and offer you cheesecake that I hid in the freezer?”

Kurt laughed at that. “I couldn’t stop you from sighing anymore than you could stop me, and I found and ate the cheesecake two days ago. Blaine and Dad helped.”

“Alright, Ho...Kurt. I accept your ground rules. Ask your questions and I’ll answer honestly as I can within my frame of knowledge.”

Kurt took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Is the really bad fur flu back?”

Carole couldn’t help but let out a sigh at the racist words she never thought she’d hear again from her son. He’d come so far in his therapy and in trusting them that sometimes she forgot he hadn’t lived with them for that long. Not compared to where he’d spent the majority of his childhood. Given the way he was dressed and how far away he was standing, like everything that had happened to him at Lima Heights Hybrid Reformatory, she knew his experience with the Pandemic of 2012 hadn’t been good and that she’d have to tread carefully. “There is a coronavirus that has made its appearance in the continental United States. The medical community believes it’s a mutation of covid-12, which is, I’m assuming, the illness you’re referring to.” 

Kurt looked away from his mom and fussed with the hem of his shirt. He knew she hated the slurs for his race, but he’d heard them his whole life and didn’t know what else to call the virus. It was hard enough to talk about it at all. Even his therapist, Miss Pillsbury, didn’t know about this time in his life and she knew just about everything by now. “I was eleven when everyone got the bad flu and died. The human guards said it was our fault for being hybrids, for being born with special glands, and giving it to them. I didn’t know it had another name. Blaine said at his private grade school the administration and teachers were afraid of him because he’s mixed race. They wouldn’t let him and the others go to class and quarantined them in a trailer in the parking lot. Their dean called it the same thing the guards and Commandant at the Reformatory did.”

“Kurt, are you certain you were eleven? If treated early, covid-12 doesn’t have a high death rate. It is a nasty virus with lifelong, often debilitating, medical complications, but most people don’t die from it.”

“Maybe for humans. Only a couple of the human guards died or didn’t come back to work. We hybrids _died_.” Kurt blinked away his tears and fought to control his shaking and rapid breathing. What his adopted human parent was saying didn’t make sense and he needed honest answers. As a registered nurse practitioner, she should have them. “I was forced to help bury them, Mom. There were whole cages packed with the newbies and some of my bunkmates and kids from other cell blocks. They were all dead and more of us kept dying. I got really sick and thought I was going to end up tossed in the pit too.”

Carole’s heart broke and all she wanted to do was hug her boy and tell him for the millionth time that she wished she had known his mom when she was alive and helped her out so that none of this would have happened to him. Kurt had already faced unbearable atrocities at that hellhole. This one was a new distressing revelation. “Oh, Honey!” 

Kurt wanted to smile at that, but he couldn’t. “This flu is worse, right? Because it mutated? I know you and Dad wouldn’t kick us out, but Blaine’s packing and we already asked the hybrid co-op school if we could live in a room in the building and they said, ‘yes,' as long as we take care of the place during shutdown. We don’t want to get you and Dad infected.”

“And that’s why you’re wearing homemade protection.”

“Do I need more? The mask has three layers of tightly woven cotton fabric with a cut up bed pee pad at the cheeks because you didn’t have any maxi pads. I even put on that horrible incontinence underwear you bought when Blaine and I got beaten up and couldn’t move very well. My welding mask is at the shop. I can text Dad to bring it home. Elliott said he can’t give us a ride until tomorrow.”

“Kurt, hold on a minute and look at me. Am I wearing PPE?”

“No, but you have marks from it.”

“That’s because the hospital and clinic are taking extra precautions and I worked a shift at each today. I’m also exhausted and should be the one asking you and Blaine if you wanted your father and I to wear masks and gloves around you.”

“Because we might have it and be contagious.”

“No, Honey. Covid-12 is only transmittable by humans to hybrids. Not the other way around.”

“Blaine’s half human.” As much as Kurt didn’t want to give up his upstairs bedroom, he knew fighting Blaine for it would be a lost cause. Not after the “dive bombing death moth” his boyfriend swore had attacked him the time he’d slept on the enclosed back porch after their fight about less important things.

“And he’s lucky to be so. Depending upon how much hybrid DNA he has and where it’s located on the genome, it’s highly probable that he has a very slim chance of being a carrier. He could still get sick, but it would be mild and the viral load he would shed would be minimal.” 

Carole thought back to the time the, then novel, coronavirus had spread like wildfire throughout the world. There had been a handful of others since then, but none as bad as covid-12 had been for humans. She had downplayed the death rate for the sake of her son’s mental health. It had been high early on when little was known about the insidious virus, and the fear with the current mutation was that it would be high again. She hadn’t been lying about the virus mainly affecting humans. 

When the fall flu season came in 2012 it brought with it a double tsunami-sized cocktail and more people started dying, human and hybrid alike. Yet it was people like Kurt and Blaine and the millions of other hybrids who were left to take the blame instead of a handful of racist politicians who refused to release extra funding for the increased need for medical care and doses of the influenza vaccine to underserved communities. Kurt’s fears weren’t for nothing. They were just for the wrong illness. “You had the flu, Kurt. You and your cellmates who lived, it was the flu. The ones who died likely contracted both. The covid-12 virus weakened their systems and allowed the seasonal flu to settle in deeper.”

“But I almost died. It felt like I would. I always do when I get the flu, but this was worse.”

“Given the conditions you were living in, I’m not surprised.”

Kurt let out a long sigh of relief. Still, he needed a bit more reassurance. “So I’m not going to kill you or dad just by being around you?”

“No, Sweetie. If you want, I can schedule some tests for you and Blaine with the clinic and you can get your annual flu shot and standard covid-12 vaccine a little early while you’re at it.”

“I’ve never had a flu shot before.”

“Kurt, you were yelling at the doctors and staff so much every time you were at the clinic, you didn’t notice.”

It had been long enough since those days that Kurt could pretend to laugh along with his adopted mom. The place was still evil in his opinion, but necessary at times. “As long as I get cheesecake or cookies and there won’t be a side of Boost with those tests and shots, you have a deal.” Kurt waited for his mom to agree and was glad he could make her laugh. He couldn’t help but continue to be worried. “Will you and Dad be okay? You’re going to take precautions right? And a test? Is there a human vaccine for the original covid-12? Will it work on this new one?”

“Honey, yes to the first two, and they’re working on a vaccine for the new one. Right now, they’re using a combination of drugs and treatments in addition to the original vaccine. Your dad and I will be fine. Try not to worry, alright? You're sweet to have made plans, but they weren’t necessary. You and Blaine don’t have to go anywhere. However, if you want to make some of those nice masks for your dad and I, we wouldn’t say no.”

Kurt beamed at the suggestion. “I have the perfect fabrics for them!”

“I knew you would.” Carole stopped her son before he could run upstairs and keep her awake all night with his sewing machine. “I’m really am sorry for what happened to you, Kurt. I wish I could make it better.”

“You already did, Mom. You made me a Hummel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t work the following in without shoehorning it, and so left it out.: The “handful of racist politicians who refused to release extra funding for the increased need for medical care and influenza vaccine to the underserved communities” is not just a take on current U.S. politics. In chapter 6 of A Nest of Scars, Kurt reflects upon a President Malia and how she was supposed to help get hybrids more rights. Yet after being president for four of the years he’d been locked up, she hadn’t done a very good job. My headcanon is that this is the end of Malia’s term and she doesn’t get reelected. The conservatives, such as those senators, had started regaining their power and increasing it in evermore bigotted and xenophobic ways. Ways that by the time Kurt escapes the Reformatory as a teenager, the most abusive president and politicians (local and national) have risen to power.


End file.
